“All because of this,” muttered my mother, “because of this white powder.” I glanced at her and asked: “What’s that? All what?” And she smoothed a wrinkle from her sleeve and replied: “Well, everything. The little ones’ burials, the miscarriages. Your frailty. And other things I don’t even want to think about."
Digital Subscriptions, Fiction, Litro #126: Poland



